Trees showered the road into town with gold. The Professor was kind enough to loan out his carriage, since Caity wasn't stable enough to handle the two-wheeled cart Mrs. MacReady used. Her father drove the vehicle (a remnant of his own teenage summers when he worked on his grandfather's farm), Peter keeping her company in the passenger seat. This was her first doctor-sanctioned venture away from the country home in months, and a significant milestone. Within twenty minutes, they pulled up to the simple building of the local hospital.

A nurse met them at the entrance with a wheelchair. They only had to make a few turns before arriving at a gymnasium-like room. Bars, medicine balls, a rowing machine, stationary bikes, and other equipment filled the space. The assistant, Dorothy, who had been making house calls to treat Caity was waiting. "Welcome. I know the doctor has told you to keep your expectations measured, but this is a big day for all of us. You've been making exciting progress."

"I'm a little nervous, but ready to try," Caity replied with a deep breath. The nurse wheeled her over to a therapy table. They started with the stretches and guided movement, same as they had been doing at the house. Then they shifted to a pair of bars. Dorothy stood between the horizontal rails; she directed Dr. Miller and Peter to stand on either side, and had Caity's chair brought to one end, the wheels locked.

"Now, I don't want you trying to push yourself to your feet just yet. Allow them to lift you, you'll grasp the bars, and we'll focus just on standing. See how you feel. Be honest about any numbness, dizziness, anything that doesn't feel right. Sound like a plan?" Dorothy waited until all three of them nodded. "On the count of three—one, two, three."

The sensation was different from being picked up and carried. What struck Caity the most was how foreign the action seemed. Had it really been that long since she had done anything remotely like standing? At the same time, it was a thrill to finally be completely upright again, even if she was being supported in the process. She could feel her feet solidly under her, though her legs were more like stilts. Solid, but untested.

"Doing okay?" ventured Peter.

"Yes, just getting acclimated. Am I allowed to try supporting myself without them holding my arms?" Caity asked Dorothy. The therapist acquiesced cautiously. Caity's heart fluttered with anxiety. Her weight felt heavier on her arms than she would like, however she was no less steady. She grinned at each person around her in turn. "I guess those arm exercises are paying off."

"Wonderful work, dear," Dorothy agreed.

"Can I…is it okay if I try to take a step forward? Not walking far or pushing myself, I simply want to see…if I can move. Please?"

"Caity, remember what the doctor said about exhaustion, managing expectations," warned her father, gently.

"Just to know if it's at all possible. I'll save the real effort for future appointments, I promise. Straight back to the chair after this."

"Just to test it out, understood?" insisted Dorothy. "Then you stick to what I say for the rest of the session."

Anticipation thickened in the air. Caity focused on her toes, fingers clenching the bars. Time stretched out as she willed her body to move, to shift, any sign of returning motor function. She fought the burgeoning hope in her chest, afraid that she was going to crash into disappointment. Come on, you can do it… Even with the therapy she had undertaken so far, her arms began to shake ever so slightly from exertion. Her father's hand reached gently for her elbow to guide her back.

Her right foot slid haltingly forward inch by inch.

Exclamations burst out among the little group from the shocked and smiling faces around her. Inwardly Caity felt as if she were jumping up and down, so that she hardly registered being eased into the wheelchair. Her father swept her shoulders into a tight hug. Peter waited his turn before planting a loving kiss on her cheek. Even Dorothy applauded.

"I want to keep you to the standing exercises unless I approve otherwise, but that is a fantastic sign," she praised. "Truly remarkable. Let yourself rest, we'll do one more turn standing, and then talk about how we're going to proceed from here."

That night, Caity was so excited she wasn't sure she would be able to sleep. Thankfully, the exertion of the day took care of that for her.

The next day wasn't as encouraging. Fatigue lingered from the moment Caity woke up, and a deep ache radiated through her body, strong enough to nearly bring her to tears. She allowed visitors, but mostly just wanted to rest. It was another full day before she felt able to leave bed.

From there she regained everything she had worked toward in fairly short order. The therapy sessions at home focused more on her legs, while she continued to follow strict guidelines for arm exercises on her own. They developed a routine; hospital rehab once a week, bed rest the day after, and home therapy visits twice a week. Over the next few weeks, the recovery days became less intense. Still helpful, just not debilitating.

By the time the first snow flurries drifted in the air, Caity could push herself up into a standing position at the parallel bars, and was steady on her feet as long as she had a handhold. Dorothy stood next to her on the outside of the bars.

"Now I know you've been itching for today to arrive, but we're going to take this slowly," coached the therapist. "Keep a good grip on the bars, start with just one step forward."

Concentrating hard, Caity shifted her weight to her right side. Her left knee bent a little first. Her foot slid along the floor, almost as if wary of leaving the ground. Then it gradually took her weight again, and held firm. She was so transfixed by the movement that she almost forgot to breathe.

"Wonderful. Now try another."

Similar process. The toe of her right shoe kind of bumped along as it dragged the floor, raising more than her left had. She had to focus on how to plant it flat in order to stand on it properly. Standing nearby, Peter and her father both beamed at her.

She took a third step, and a fourth. Each one made her feel ten feet taller. Close to the other end, she wobbled against one of the bars. Dorothy looped an arm under one of Caity's just in case.

"I'm okay," Caity insisted. Dorothy beckoned to their onlookers.

"Will one of you bring the chair around? I still want you to take a rest, dear."

Her father brought the wheelchair over. Caity maintained that she wanted to make the turn and sit for herself. It took her a minute, she was starting to feel the exertion, however she accomplished her goal under watchful gazes. As soon as she settled, tears flooded up.

Naturally they all asked her what was wrong. She shook her head. "Just the opposite…feeling the realization, that I might walk again, might live a reasonably normal life after all…" She hugged her father tight, the closest person in her reach at the moment. He too had happy tears in his eyes.

In the span of a precious few weeks, both the doctor and physical therapist declared that Caity's condition was undeniably recovering, and in fact she should be fit enough to travel for the first time in months. Much as the Millers enjoyed and deeply appreciated the hospitality at the Professor's estate, at some point Dr. Miller had his job as a physician to which he needed to return.

"It feels so bittersweet that this milestone comes so shortly before Christmas," lamented Caity at their final dinner together. "I hate to think of you being left to yourself for the holidays."

"My dear, the pleasure of having had your company has been a wonderful extended gift in itself. I have plenty of practice managing with just myself and Mrs. MacReady. It would be selfish of me to keep you longer now that you are getting back on your feet, quite literally. Life must continue on, for all of us," the Professor reassured her. Whether an intentional gesture or not, the older man's glance flitted to Peter, who was of course fondly attentive to Caity.

"Well, we must send you a special present, however small a token of our gratitude. I don't think we could ever repay you for everything you've done."

"The honor has been mine."

The next morning arrived all too quickly, cold and cloudy, though precipitation the held off. Both Mrs. MacReady and the Professor accompanied them to the train platform to say their goodbyes. Caity embarked all on her own power, thanks to her new pair of crutches. Dr. Miller led the way to a sleeper car—not a typical booking even for such a long journey, but for their particular situation it was a sensible choice. Once the train set off, Peter arranged one of the beds so that Caity could rest as needed.

As it turned out, the Pevensies found a new house only a short distance from the Millers', enabling Peter to help Caity with everything from her continued recovery to the studies that her father encouraged her to resume as well. Both of them were accepted to London College. With further therapy and practice, Caity shed the crutches for a cane. Soon all that remained of the summer's ordeal was stiffness especially in her left knee and ankle, similar to what polio survivors encountered. She felt a deep new admiration for people like the Americans' President Roosevelt.

So life continued on, despite the spreading of the war to nearly every continent in the world. News from the front still arrived in Mr. Pevensie's letters, and efforts at home pitched in to rebuild London. Peter and Caity existed happily knowing that they had a future together to look forward to, however distant it reached. After that cut-short summer, Aslan's promise made them feel like they had all the time in the world.

(early care, visit from doctor, Pevensies return to London while Peter continues to stay)
(Physical rehab, clearing first milestones, relearning one thing at a time, first trip outside again)
(Cleared for travel, familiar surroundings but new arrangements, exceeding expectations)
(miracle steps, the prospect of university, wanting to help the war effort)